Resident Evil : Dark Hour
by Sir Hellsing
Summary: A supposed virus outbreak has occurred in an Umbrella facility deep beneath the pipings of Essex. It is then that STARS is dispatched to uncover Umbrella's dark secrets and prevent another Raccoon City incident. This is Umbrella's final chapter.
1. notice

_DISCLAIMER: Resident Evil and all of its characters are trademarks of CAPCOM. Any characters mentioned not from the original Resident Evil series are copyrighted to the author._

Author's Note: This is a revised version of the original _Resident Evil: Dark Hour_ that was originally published on 07 December 2004.

**  
ONE: NOTICE**

There were hundreds and thousands of men and women—the majority of which were in business-like attire—planking the sidewalks of lower Manhattan with just as many cars criss-crossing its traffic-jammed streets. The hour was high noon, but the sun was absent that day. Instead, grey clouds covered the sky, blanketing over all of New York. The crowd of people was glum-filled as their briefcases hung beside them as if they were appendages attached to the person's body.

The buildings were tall and stark against the grey background of the sky; there was one building that was built short—a mere five levels off the ground—but was expansive, taking up almost half a block. This building housed the many men and women who served "justice" in Kevlar vests and armed with heavy artillery. They focused on the abnormal and often unsolved cases that could not be handled solely by the city's police department. They were the men and women of the Special Tactics And Rescue Service; and the building that housed them was the S.T.A.R.S. New York headquarters, the original establishment of S.T.A.R.S. since 1967.

The S.T.A.R.S. building was built eloquently with modern Greco-Roman architecture. Large Ionic pillars lined the building from all sides, extending to the very top ledge of the building. The windows were constructed tall and tinted heavily, so much that they were almost black. A whitewashed marble staircase led up to the large, oaken doors. The door itself was engraved with meticulously detailed depictions of unrecognisable stories.

Beyond the oaken doors lies the grandeur interior of the foyer, which then immediately leads to the reception and lobby room. The entire floor was tiled with off-white-coloured marble tiles—two-times waxed, of course—and planters lined the walls, all green and healthy. The ceiling was vaulted high, making the room feel even more expansive than it already was. Glass-made chandeliers drooped from the very top of the ceiling like icicles shimmering in the twilight.

There was nothing more in the main hall, save for the two elevators placed to the left-hand side of the room. The elevators on this floor only went up to the second floor, and then there was another set of elevators in the northeastern corner of the second floor; and that one went up to both third and fourth floors.

The fourth floor was where all the "action" takes place. It is the level where officers receive information, translate that information, and conference on operations and need to be executed. The only men and women inhabiting the fourth floor, however, were the elite commandos of the S.T.A.R.S. operatives: the "Knights of Justice". The only time any lower ranked officers would step foot on the fourth floor was for "Common Conferencing." Even then, those were few; the majority of the conferencing was held on the third floor, which was just one large room big enough to capacitate the quarter's seventy thousand employees.

The Knights of Justices were few, accommodating only five men and women nationwide. Among them are elites Albert Wesker, Angelina Smith, Ashley Whitman, Norman Fitzgerald, and Markus Hayman.

Finally, the fifth floor to the seemingly palace-like building: In order to reach the fifth floor, personnel would need a Level 005A key card to access the glass elevator located on the west end of the fourth floor. From there the elevator takes the personnel up to the fifth floor, opening up to an outstretched catwalk built from marble (but of course). The marble catwalk extended to the very end of the building on the east side where it met with the grand steel wall. Holding up the catwalk were Corinthian pillars that stretched down onto the fourth floor. Also, along the walk, portraits of old "Masters of Justices" are hung from the ceiling, as there are no walls or other flooring aside from the catwalk on the fifth floor—allowing vision of the floor below it.

On the grand steel wall on the east side of the building was the portrait of the current Master of Justice Mathis Albrecht, or Emperor Albrecht as some people liked to joke. His piercing grey eyes stared you down from across the walk, as you would exit from the finely furnished glass elevator. And as you left the elevator you not only had the eyes of Emperor Albrecht watching you, but also the eyes of twenty other Masters of Justices, all of which seemed to have the same malevolent stare and their hooked noses on which sat gold-rimmed bifocals. Albrecht, however, was the only Master since Oliver Spencer to not where the famed gold-rimmed glasses. His vision was keen like that of a hawk, with a matching nose. His lips were thin and crisp; the lines from his wrinkles were fine and well defined.

His brows were lowered; his hair was thin, slick, and silver in colour. His frame stood at a mere 1.62 metres (5 ft. 4 in.), however. He was a thin man, but still had the physique of a well-trained marine corps. Weak men never rise to the ranks of such positions as a "Master of Justice." Weak people are stale and only remain in their own surreality that they call life.

Albrecht believed that in order to succeed in life one needed _power_ because _power _is _life_ and life is nothing without power, as indicated in the motto emblazoned beneath his portrait (as it is also found on all of the heraldry found hanging in the building): _"Obedience Breeds Discipline. Discipline Breeds Unity. Unity Breeds Power. Power is Life."_

And beneath the engraved motto sits a small podium elevated two feet from the ground, and on that podium was a hand scan. Security is taken seriously in the complex of the New York S.T.A.R.S.; simple keys or cards will not firmly secure what is most important to an organisation.

There was then a sudden _ping_ from the other end of the room—from the elevator. The chiselled steel doors slid open and from the brightly lit elevator stepped out a tall and slender man with a coat draped over his shoulders and a cane to support his seemingly feeble frame. The man glided across the catwalk past the glaring faces of old Masters and approached the small podium where the hand scan was. He took his right hand from his pant pocket and placed it on the cool surface of the scan. The scan read over his prints and identified him as Sir Edwin Chamberlain.

"Good Sir," came a voice from around him. "What brings you to me quarters?" the ghost asked.

"Albrecht," the man replied, his voice raspy and old, but it still had a tinge of fierce strength in it. "You god damn fool. Allow me to pass now, for I will not be made a fool of." He had a slight English accent that would send chills down any fortified man's spine.

At that note, the wall in which Chamberlain was standing before began to rumble then rose from the ground and disappeared into the ceiling.

Chamberlain swiftly moved past the podium and into the vast office of Mathis Albrecht. The office was neatly ordained with artefacts from the world over; most noticeable was the six-foot high glass cabinet that was filled with priceless stones and crystallised plants and insects. The floor was carpeted with a deep red-coloured tapestry, and in the centre of the room the S.T.A.R.S. insignia was embroidered in the carpeting.

"This is very serious," Chamberlain began, not allowing Albrecht to give a formal welcoming. He walked across the room, approaching Albrecht's polished desk, then resting both hands on top of it.

"What is it?" Albrecht queried, staring into Chamberlain's equally, if not more piercing eyes.

Chamberlain lifted his body, taking his cane in hand and flipped the top open and out came a thin roll of paper. He took the paper from its place and handed it over to Albrecht. The Master of Justice took it in hand, unrolled the ream of paper and read it in a soft whisper.

"'_There has been an incident at the London-based laboratory on date 20th December. It has come to my attention to make use of this incident by allowing the co-ops task force S.T.A.R.S. to take order. This operation is to be kept on a low key. The exact location of the facility shall not be revealed to any persons other than Sir Edwin Chamberlain and Master of Justice Mathis Albrecht, S.T.A.R.S. Dispatch the elite. The information obtained by the men and women of S.T.A.R.S. is vital to our corporation.'_ Signed _Umbrella, Incorporate Headquarters, London_."

"I did not want to fax this over or discuss it over the phone for obvious reasons," Chamberlain said, turning his back on Albrecht. "There have been a few defects in the force since Raccoon, you know. The majority of them are S.T.A.R.S. members."

Albrecht got up from his leather chair, not taking his eyes off Chamberlain's back. "So they want me to send in my best men to only get killed by those _biofreaks_?"

Chamberlain, at this, turned immediately. "Do you not understand, man? The research that has been going on in London is top of the line! It rockets above Birkin's T- and G-viruses! It is said to even be above Ashford's Veronica type! They have experimented with animals, of course. And results are superb. But these prototypes have learnt to think _together_, as a _pact_. Their brain mass has amassed!

"Their power is great. This is the perfection of the Progenitor. And what better way to test their intelligence and their durability than by pitting these prototypes against man's elite? This is _your_ notice Albrecht. Accept now or be denounced from the Knights of the Round Table. It's _your_ call."

Albrecht was in awe; he was taken aback by this remarkable breakthrough in bio-weaponry. Was this truly possible? An army of bio-enhanced monsters who can think for themselves? This would of course wipe the "Tyrants" off the market. It must be done. It _will_ be done.

If all went well Albrecht would be one of the beholders of the new B.O.W., he would obtain true _power_; and power is _life_.


	2. dispatch

**TWO: DISPATCH**

_24 December_

_1300 hours Eastern Standard Time_

_Manhattan, New York_

Footsteps could be heard clanking against the marble flooring from the hallway, even with the door shut. Markus Hayman was busy reading through his case files for the Massachusetts murders that claimed the lives of fifteen innocent victims. He worked in a separate division of S.T.A.R.S. that was called E.D.E.N., an acronym for _les Enfants des Espoirs-Nationale_, or "the Children of the National State". It was depressing to see that one man was able to get away with fifteen murders within the duration of _three_ days; no trails were left, the crime scenes were always _spotless_. The acts were well executed—aside from being disgusted Markus was impressed by the murderer's skill.

"C'mon," he said to himself, tapping his pencil rapidly on his desk. "C'mon, I need a lead—_something! Anything!_" He flipped through page after page of newspaper articles and magazine cut outs and a photo album left at one of the crime scenes (the only article ever left behind at a scene but did not help in solving the case) and he even watched several surveillance tapes that only caught glimpses of someone pulling his victims into the dark allies of the city.

As Markus was scanning the album once more, his fleece jacket began to ring. He rolled his chair over to where his jacket was hung and grabbed the phone from its front pocket, flipped it open and answered.

"This is Markus Hayman."

"Markus," a woman responded, it was his wife. "I wanted to wait until you came home, but—"

"Madeline, what is it? My mind can't wander too far from work. I'm already lost and confused as it is. This case just isn't—"

"I'm pregnant." She said, almost as if she didn't mean to but did anyway.

Markus was filled with a sudden feeling of exciting and fear at the same time. His eyes shot open and his mouth hung low. With his phone still to his ear he stammered his next sentence. "A-a-are you sure? I mean, wow, that's great! But are you _sure_? When? How? You're gonna be a mom. _I'm_ gonna be a _dad_! Jesus! Maddy!" He was no longer able to hold his excitement that was pitted at the bottom of his stomach so he jumped from his chair and gave out a loud _yippee_ and started screaming excitedly into the phone.

After he hung up with his wife his mind could no longer concentrate on a murder case that seemed impossible to solve. Instead it switched over to what he would name the baby and how he would spend time with his baby. He was going to be a _daddy_!

_Wow_, he thought to himself, _me, Markus Hayman a _father_ at twenty-nine._

His moment in bliss was cut short by a blaring ringing from his office phone. He rolled his chair back over to his desk and pushed the button to accept the call. It was Emperor Albrecht checking up on his progress on the Massachusetts case, no doubt.

"Hayman," came the voice of the brutish man on the other end of the receiver.

_I knew it_, his mind whispered from the back of his head.

"Hayman?"

"Uh…yes, sir?" Markus replied.

"I need you up in my office _now_." And Albrecht hung up without another word. And by the urgent tone of Albrecht's voice Markus needed to be up there immediately, so he grabbed his case files, threw them under his arms, stormed out of his office, down the corridor past the other offices and over to the glass elevator at the end of the hall. He pushed the little "up" button, which glowed thereafter, and waited for the elevator to arrive. Once it did, the doors slid open and he walked in, pressed another "up" button and he was on his way to Albrecht's level.

Once he was on the fifth floor, the glass doors glided open and led him onto an outstretched platform that led to the end of the room where the hidden door was. He walked across the platform at a quick pace, making sure not to catch the eyes of one of the Masters of Justices as he did. He only managed to catch a glimpse of the floor beneath him, as there was no other flooring on this level, meaning no ceiling on the fourth floor.

He reached the small podium in front of the door, placed his hand on the cool surface. His name was spoken to him by a computer system and the door slid open, taking with it the grotesque portrait of Albrecht.

Markus entered Albrecht's office, stepping onto a plush red carpet. He walked to the centre of the room where the S.T.A.R.S. insignia was embroidered and waited in front of Albrecht's desk with his arms behind his back.

"Sir, you summoned me?" Markus said with a mark of confidence, his files still in hand.

Albrecht turned around in his chair, his hands clasped together in front of his face. His cold eyes stared up at Markus who stood 1.8 metres (5ft. 10.5 in.) tall. He moved his hands away from his face and placed it on his desk.

"Your current assignment is the Massachusetts case, right?" Albrecht asked. Markus nodded his head. "You have made very little progress since the beginning of November when you were handed the case, yes?" again Markus nodded reluctantly. "All you have managed to uncover is that Massachusetts was not his only target area and that his only victims are women of all ages. All of this is helpful, but leads us nowhere, really."

Albrecht got up from his chair and walked around his desk to come face-to-face with Markus—or at least face-to-chest.

"Hayman, from here on out I am relieving you of your duties on the Massachusetts and handing it over to Natalia. However, you are to take on another case—a _hands-on_ case, in _England_."

"I'm sorry, sir? England?" Markus looked down at Albrecht with incredulity.

"Yes. It would seem that there's been an incident at a rogue facility in the county of Essex. The facility is suspected of aiding in the development of bio-weaponry for terrorist countries, and those weapons are believed to be targeted at the United States. That is why I need you. I need you to infiltrate the facility, collect any incriminating evidence proving thusly and leave without a trace. If you are caught in action I am giving you permission to kill.

"Your plane leaves in 0100 hours—you dispatch at 1400 hours and will arrive at a landing station near the vicinity of the facility at 1500 hours; that's 2000 hours Greenwich Mean Time. Your Alpha team from the E.D.E.N. department will be accompanying you throughout this operation."

"Yes, sir."

Markus spun around and began for the door, but just as he was about to release the lock for the door to open Albrecht called to him, "I want you back in one piece, soldier. I'm taking a big risk here. You never know what type of bio-weapons they've developed across that pond."

"No problem, sir." And he turned to leave to assemble his Alpha team. E.D.E.N. was to be put into action on an international scale.


	3. blitzkrieg

**THREE: BLITZKRIEG**

_24 December  
__1830 Central European Time / Mitteleuropäische Zeit  
__Münster, North Rhine Westphalia, Germany_

Rebecca Chambers was sitting at one of the many wooden desks on the second floor of the city-library of Munster, perusing through web pages that popped up on the screen of her laptop. As she read through article after article, her eyes expanded to almost the size of a walnut. She could not believe what she was reading.

Every one of the articles seemed to have the same headings: all described a brutal mass murder spree in a small county in England, all of which were similar in that the victims all died of massive trauma due to gnashed wounds that led to extreme haemorrhaging.

_Another outbreak?_ She thought, as she scanned through the pages incredulously. One headline caught her attention most:

_**WATER CONTAMINATION IN COUNTY OF ESSEX**_

_Essex, England—It has been reported earlier this week that the bodies of ten denizens living in the small county of Essex, England, were found yester-day piled on top of each other in the sewage system, stopping all water flow from reaching the water treatment plants. The corpses have contaminated the waters thusly, and work to filter out the bacteria and other agents in the decomposing bodies have commenced. Citizens are still cautioned that it is best not to drink from their faucets or bathe if there are any open cuts on the body for fear of any serious infections—one reported boy was sent to the hospital in London to day for serious rashes that appeared on his body after having drunken a cup of water from the faucet. His mother told _The Observer_ that his skin began to peel every time the boy made contact with any object that rubbed against his skin. His condition has yet to be released to the press by the doctors…._

She had no doubt in her mind that the deaths of these people were the cause of Umbrella's bio-weapons on the loose once more. It seemed to her that Umbrella's branches were endless, spilling over even into the depths of England, no doubt spreading rapidly through the veins of the citizens as she read the article. But now she wondered why had Umbrella not step into action to clean up their mess? Were they going to let the virus run amuck once more, but this time in England? Were they really going to allow the virus to spread through the waters throughout all of England like that? Wiping out the entire country—God knows they would do it, too.

Whatever the reason for Umbrella's detention, Rebecca was not too worried. Perhaps it was better that Umbrella laid off their hands from their work. Everything the corporation laid its rotting hands on only made matters worst. But there had to be something done about the spread of the contamination. She would not allow thousands of more innocent lives to die at the cloaked hands of Umbrella.

_Slump. Slump. Slump._ Several footsteps could be heard from somewhere in the distance of the darkening library. Rebecca quickly shut her laptop, trying not to make a sound. With her hands placed tightly on top of the computer she turned her body to survey her surroundings to make sure that no one was spying on her.

She peered past the parallel bookshelves that lined the second floor, but not a shadow moved. Moving slyly, she transferred her black laptop back into its case, slipped the strap over her shoulder and walked to the railing to peer over the balcony over the first floor to see if the noise had come from there. She stood there, her back turned to the rest of the room, bent over the railing, searching for any sign of movement; but there were no other persons in the library save for the two librarians lurking around their stale, metallic desks typing furiously at their keyboards.

_Slump._ _Slump._

Rebecca instantaneously turned around, her heart beating insanely in her chest against her ribs. She reached down to her right thigh, feeling for _it_ that was strapped on to her leg—she and the other ex-S.T.A.R.S. had to protect themselves at all times, so they felt.

"Who's there?" she questioned softly into the dimly lit library.

Using the balustrade as her guide, Rebecca inched toward the stairs to the first level. But before making for the stairs she questioned the darkness again: "Who's there?" but no one answered, only a _slump_ was heard again and the noise of a soft moan from seemingly everywhere.

Could _they_ be here, too? Could it have already spread over the Channel and into Germany? _No! That would be impossible. It can't _possibly_spread _that_ fast!_ She thought, her mind tracing the information she had learnt on the T-Virus from the Raccoon incident.

_Unnnnnnnggh_.

The moan was closer this time, and it grew stronger. It was coming from somewhere to her right, near the stairwell. Rebecca immediately turned her body toward the sound and drew her standard S.T.A.R.S.-issued 9mm Beretta from under her mini-skirt and aimed it into the looming blackness.

She drew several short, but deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling, whilst still pointing her Beretta into the dim-lit corridors created by the bookshelves. And then it appeared with another few _slumps_ toward her. The outline of a man's body came into view, its broad shoulders hung low, as did its arms—one arm was up scratching its head—and it moaned an awful moan.

_Kill it_, she thought instinctively. _Kill it before it advances any closer to you!_ But she did not shoot the gun.

"Ungh, shit," the thing said. "Damn it, Mathius,"

_It can talk? No, then it can't be…_

Finally realising that the man in the shadows was not a walking dead, Rebecca immediate withdrew her gun and place back in its holster strapped onto her thigh.

"Are you all right?" She asked the man in German, who was now bent over, almost collapsing on the floor. She ran over to help him, to make sure he was all right. "Are you all right?" she asked again, this time in English, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. He willed his head to turn up toward Rebecca.

His face was finely chiselled, his cheekbones protruded from his face, but not too much where it was grotesque, just enough to define them as being cheek bones. His nose was aquiline and sharp, and did not look bad on him at all. It sat well between his thin, almond-shaped eyes, which were grey in colour. His lips were thin and tight, glossed over with lip balm because of the harsh winter that Germany was experimenting. His amazingly handsome features caught Rebecca by surprise.

"I'm—okay," he responded in English, his hand not moving from his forehead. "My friend, you see, hit me over the head with a book—he isn't right, y'know, in the head." He stood up now, towering a whole head above Rebecca. His accent was unmistakable that he was a Briton.

_How ironic_, she thought, remembering the articles she had read on the incident in England just a few minutes before.

"Where's your friend?" Rebecca queried, looking around the library for another person. "I didn't know there was someone else on this floor," she finally said after a long while's silence.

The man looked down to her. "This library's pretty expansive," he said. "You never know if you're truly alone or not." He gave a short chuckle, but grunted immediately after, still in pain from his head injury.

"Well, where's your friend?"

"He could be anywhere on this floor, or the third, or the first. I don't know. He won't leave this building, though. This is the only _real_ place he's familiar with."

"What's wrong with him? If you don't mind my asking."

"No problem," he replied, his hand still on his forehead. "Uh, he was in this car crash about a month ago, you see, and he was hurt real bad. He began to haemorrhage, uh, I mean, _bleed dramatically_ from his head and elsewhere. He suffered a lot of brain damage, especially to his cerebrum—that's largest part in the human brain that controls the conscious and voluntary processes. And he hasn't been right since. Been real ill."

Rebecca gave a short sigh, only because he had tried to simplify his story, believing her to be just another kid in the library. Irked by this, she moved back from him, turned away and walked down the stairwell without saying a word.

_Bastard._

It was already dark outside, the chill air swept through the busy streets fiercely, sending chills all over Rebecca's body. She was on her way back to her apartment from the library, her laptop case still strapped over her shoulder. As she pushed her way through crowding sea of people, her mind quickly reverted back to the articles she had read earlier about the killing spree in England. Flashes of memories scrolled instantaneously through her head. Images of blood and gore splattered its way into her head again. The rotting flesh that stalked the night and the monstrous roars of indescribable creatures lurked in the deep and dark crevices of her mind, waiting for their prey to make their move. Secret underground laboratories loomed amidst the growing forestry; and torrents of raw sewage rampaged throughout a water treatment plant somewhere deep in the pit of the Raccoon Forest. She was there again; she was in that train again and then the military training facility and then the treatment plant and then the mansion and then on the run from Umbrella operatives and finally she was in Germany. And now she knew that she had to be in England to stop Umbrella before the problem escalated to another Raccoon City situation.

She needed to get home now to share the news with the others. She needed to go after Umbrella one last time to annihilate the monster corporation that took too many lives already—this was a vendetta.

She made a sharp turn around a corner into an alleyway behind a butcher shop—taking a shortcut back to the apartment. Water leaked from pipes and heat rose from nearby gutters, creating a foul stench that she nearly vomited, but held it back. Instead, she began at a sprint down the alleyway, holding on tightly to her computer by her side but then immediately stopped when she heard someone's voice from somewhere around one of the many corners.

"_S.T.A.R.S…."_ they said in a low, raspy voice.

Rebecca halted in her place and once again reached down for her Beretta, ready to shoot at whoever or whatever had made the noise.

"Who's there?" she asked, remembering her run-in with the man in the library. No one answered. She could hear nothing but the drippings of the water from the pipes and the steady bleats from the streets that seemed miles away now.

There were suddenly several footsteps that made its way out of the shadows of the buildings, slowly but surely lurching in Rebecca's direction. She unlatched the gun from its holster, raised it to about eyelevel and cocked it, her finger lowly pressing down on the trigger of the gun.

Her pulse was beating heavily in her ears; her body began to perspire as her hand stayed steady on the trigger of the gun.

"NO!" came a scream from behind her. She quickly spun around, her gun still in hand, and saw a man sprinting down the alley toward her, his arm outstretched.

Rebecca watched in almost fright as she watched the man run toward her, almost as if he were going to run into her, but as he neared her he began to slow down until he finally came to a halt in front of her, bent down, resting on his knees trying to catch his breath.

"Please," he wheezed. "Please don't shoot him. He's not—" he looked up suddenly. "Oh it's _you_," he said with a slight smirk upon his sweaty face. "You just left so suddenly I almost didn't realise,"

Rebecca cut him off, wanting to know why his friend had called out "S.T.A.R.S.", but of course she did not ask it directly. The man walked over to a wall and rested on it, then spoke softly.

"I don't understand why he left the library so suddenly. It was like…it was like he was after something. And all I could do was follow him, but then he disappeared, but I found him now. I found him with _this_," he reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a small device about six inches in length and almost as thin as a CD case.

The man then got back up on his two feet and walked briskly over to his friend, wrapping one arm around his neck and spoke childishly to him. "Let's go. We _have_ to go, Mathius. Come on, this way, boy. Good."

As they walked past Rebecca, Rebecca turned away and strutted down the alleyway, back toward her apartment when she heard something plop softly onto the floor. She turned around again and saw a flashing screen on the floor. It was the man's tracking device. She looked around the alley but saw no one in sight. _How'd they—_

She walked over to the device and picked it up, it was still on and working properly. On the screen a red dot was displayed, moving around in what seemed to be a maze. But further observation proved that what she was looking at was in fact a map of the city. She pocketed the contraption and headed back toward the apartment, this time at a sprint.

When she finally reached the apartment complex, Rebecca burst through the entrance on the ground level and instead of waiting for an elevator to arrive on her floor she took to the stairwell and ran several flights of stairs to reach her flat on the third floor.

The flight of stairs flew past her as her body shot up them, not stopping for a single breath. Her legs were pumping harder and faster than she was used to, but she would not allow herself to stop. The others needed to know about Umbrella's whereabouts immediately.

"Chris! Jill! Barry!" she cried out when she reached her flat, storming through the door and down the hall into the living quarters of the apartment. Rebecca then took her laptop from her side and placed it onto the coffee table centred in the room, unzipped the case and turned on her notebook and showed the others the hundreds of articles pertaining to "accident" in England.

Chris read over the articles time after time, hardly believing what he was reading. He turned away for a second, turning his attention toward Jill who looked up at him as well, and in turn they both looked toward Barry's direction who's expression was just as incredulous as theirs.

"How'd you find this?" one of them asked Rebecca. Rebecca kept her eye on her computer screen, and then finally answered.

"A correspondent of mine in America sent me one article, and then I just followed the links that led to the other ones."

"Correspondent?" Chris asked, almost worried that Rebecca was keeping in contact with someone whom he did not know about.

Rebecca got up and walked away from the group and into the dining room. "That doesn't matter right now. What does matter is that we head out to that place in England and stop Umbrella _right now_."

Chris stood up. "Rebecca, we can't just rush in there unprepared. We need weapons and shit. We can't take on an entire army of Umbrella bastards with just a handgun."

_That never stopped us before_, Rebecca thought, feeling for her handgun on her side.

"And we can't just go out and buy the guns and stuff, we hardly have any money as it is. We could barely afford this place!" Chris said, extending his arms as if he were able to grab a hold of the apartment complex in his arms. The apartment was not shabby, but not exactly beautiful either. The ceiling was vaulted and lamps hung low from the ceiling. A metal ladder was used to get up to the loft—the entire apartment had an industrial feel, almost retrofitted.

Rebecca turned back toward the others, a determined visage contorted in place of the usual cheerful and youthful vibrancy that was Rebecca Chambers. "I'll go in with whatever artillery I have. I am _not_ letting Umbrella claim thousands of more lives just for _game_. I'm going." She stormed over to the metal ladder, climbed them and began packing 9x19 mm parabellum ammunition into a side pack, strapped that onto her waist, then grabbed a satchel and threw her medical kit in it along with a few herb mixes she concocted whilst learning about old Native American medicine in her bio-chemistry class when she was still in school.

"Rebecca!" Jill called up to her. "Rebecca, you're not going in alone."

"What?" Rebecca called back down, not hearing what Jill had said through all her rummaging for supplies. "What did you say?"

Jill's head poked up from the edge of the loft, she then lifted her body onto the landing and stood on the edge, looking compassionately at Rebecca with a sisterly stare. She repeated: "You're not going in alone. You're right; Umbrella needs to be stopped before this situation gets out of hand. The virus might already be spreading through the bodies of the victims. Before we know it, we could have another Raccoon City on our hands.

Jill walked over to Rebecca and wrapped her arms around Rebecca. "We'll make it a blitzkrieg—they won't even know what hit them." Jill said, patting Rebecca on the back.

"This is gonna be one helluva Christmas!" Barry called from below.


	4. disturbance

_Author's Note: Okay, this chapter switches scenes quite a few times, so you're going to have to bear with me a little here. It was the only way I could get rid of the unneeded "in-between" details in describing each side's trek to the Umbrella facility in England. It worked out quite well, in my opinion. Well, enjoy this read. Oh, and just as another note, I'll constantly be editing my chapters until I have it the way I want, so please excuse any discrepancies you may encounter seeing that they may change in due time. Thank you._

**FOUR: DISTURBANCE**

_December 24  
__1350 hours Eastern Standard Time  
__Manhattan, New York_

Markus was sitting in the cabin, resting himself before his operation was to take place. He rested his M-16 to his right, holding it by the ten and a half inch barrel. A blanket of cool air washed over his body as the helicopter's blades began to spin. His eyes were closed, thinking of his wife and his unborn child, already he was thinking of what to name the child.

_Nicholas sounds nice. Or maybe Matthew. Aidan sounds better. Yeah, Aidan, but what if it's a girl? Naomi, ha. Wow, I'm gonna be a dad_.

"Captain," someone called to him, but he ignored it. "Captain," they called again, this time shrugging his shoulder. He opened his eyes, a little irked. It was Miguel Juárez the strategist. "Captain, we're ready for take off. You'd better buckle up, you're M-16, too, it should be stored in the weapons compartment."

Markus handed Miguel the M-16 and strapped himself into his seat, making sure everything was safe and secure. He then looked across the cabin to where his E.D.E.N. unit was positioned; all of them had the same blank stare on their visages. To the far left, his left, was Miguel, then next to him was his best marksman, or rather _markswoman_, Angela Swift, and finally computer analyst and technician and mechanic and "the French guy" Xavier Le Querrec. The three of them only made up three of five E.D.E.N. knights, the other two weren't needed, at least that's what Mathis told Markus.

Five minutes past and the helicopter began to lift itself off the helipad on the roof of the S.T.A.R.S. building. They were flying in the CV-22 Osprey helicopter-aircraft. It was a magnificent special ops craft: It was midnight black in colour, and on either side of the aircraft was the S.T.A.R.S. insignia, and on the underbelly of it was the S.T.A.R.S. heraldry with the motto _"Obedience Breeds Discipline. Discipline Breeds Unity. Unity Breeds Power. Power is Life."_

They would be in England in no more than two hours time. Apparently they were to land one hundred miles from the main facility, then hitch a ride from a British correspondent ninety miles closer, and finally trek the last ten miles through a forest and penetrate the facility from there whilst using stealth. They were cautioned to be wary of any guard dogs that might be roaming around the forest—Mathis also said something about _other creatures_ that might be stalking the forest at the late hour.

_

* * *

24 December  
__1915 hours Central European Time / Mitteleuropäische Zeit  
__Münster, North Rhine Westphalia, Germany_

"All right, guys, it's seven-ten right now, we leave in five minutes and we'll be there in a good two and a half hours, so it'll be nine-forty-five by the time we reach our destination, but don't forget about the time change because of the times zones there, so it'll be _eight_-forty-five GMT. Barry, everything's loaded in the car, right?" Chris asked and Barry nodded in response.

Jill walked out from the apartment's back entrance into the alley where their car was parked. She was dressed in black garb, stretching tightly over her white skin. She was also wearing her signature S.T.A.R.S. beret, which titled to the side with the S.T.A.R.S. patch facing away. She walked over in Rebecca's direction, placed one gloved hand on her shoulder and spoke softly to her.

"Rebecca, as much as you want to go, I really don't think you should. You should stay here, where it's safe. I—I just want you to be safe, that's all."

Rebecca's eyes shot wide open, filled with fury, but before she could break open her mouth and shoot words at Jill, Barry walked up to them both and said, "Uh, I'll stay behind, Jill. Rebecca can go. I think you guys'll need her there just in case any one of you gets injured. I'll stay here and act as communications. Just remember my frequency: 125.35."

"Barry, we can't—"

"It's okay. Rebecca can take care of herself. She proved that already back in July. She can do it." Barry said, and patted her on the head like his very own daughter.

"C'mon guys," Chris called over to them, smacking his hand on the hood of the black minivan. "We've got some Umbrella ass to kick."

Rebecca looked up at Barry and gave him a look of appreciation and thanks, then walked past him and got into the minivan, Jill followed suit and got into the passenger's seat next to Chris. They were to get there by road, first drive into Calais, France and then take the Tube into London.

Whilst on the road to France, Jill moved to the back with Rebecca to prepare their artillery: They had to load magazines, pack backup ammunition into side packs, and make sure each person had a side pack of first aid and a flashlight for their handguns.

"What a way to spend almost all our money in the bank, huh, Rebecca? Just to take down a faceless corporation and stop their evil doings." Jill said, laughing to herself.

"Hey Rebecca, you have the coordinates for this place, right?" Chris called back to her. Rebecca checked the pockets of her skirt and felt a cool, thin piece of metal in there. The electronic map she picked up after those two men ran off in the alleyway. Keeping that aside she fingered for the little slip she printed out of the coordinates to the Umbrella facility that she received from her correspondent in America before they left. She took it out and unfolded it.

"Yeah, got it here," she said, folding the paper back up and slipping it back into the pocket of her skirt.

Jill looked up from the bag that she was packing the guns into and scanned Rebecca's simple attire: she was wearing a simple, thin haut couture zip-up jacket that was charcoal in colour, and on the left breast was an embroidered "R." Beneath that Jill could make out what looking like a white tank-top, and around her neck was that red choker she wore on the night of the incident at the mansion; also, there was a silver necklace that went beneath her tank, concealing whatever it was that hung from the necklace. One her, Rebecca had a travel bag strapped on, and around her waist was her medical kit and ammunition bag—the straps to these articles had a holster for her handgun and another strap for her bowie knife, which she never carried with her, seeing that she would never use it; so instead she carried a lighter in its place. The colour of her skirt was a dead green, with a hint of yellow in it. It itself had several cargo pockets, in which she kept more magazine clips and whatever else she had on her.

"Do you plan on changing into pants?" Jill queried.

Rebecca shook her head. "No, I find a skirt more flexible than pants. There's more freedom, I think. Plus, this skirt was geared for playing tennis so I'm sure I'll be able to move easily in 'em."

That was right, after the happenings at the mansion Rebecca picked up tennis to take her mind away from the horrors that hid around its corners.

"Well, don't forget to put on your Kevlar," Jill reminded.

"No worries, darling _mother_," Rebecca joked, placing a playful punch on Jill's shoulder.

Chris looked back at them for a second. "Hey kids, behave now. We're nearing the checkpoint, so have out your passports."

He drove up to the gate that blocked their way into France, rolled down his window and waited for the guard to approach the car.

"Bonjour monsieur," Chris called out when he saw a man approaching their car.

"Bonjour," the man replied back. "Vous avez votre passeport?"

"Ah, oui, monsieur. Un moment, s'il vous plait—ah, voilà." Chris handed the man his passport, after checking Chris's, he asked for Jill's and Rebecca's.

"Et votre marie et fille?" he asked.

Rebecca grew angered; her mouth hung agape and turned to Jill. "Did he—Did he just say I was your _daughter_? How young does he think I am? What the—" she turned to the man. "_Excusez-moi, _monsieur," she began, but Jill cut her off.

"Hand the man your passport, _darling_," she said, handing the man hers. Rebecca reached into a sac near her side and handed it to the man. After a moment he handed it back to them.

"Bon voyage monsieur, mademoiselles," he tipped his cap and waved the operator to open the cuts.

"Merci, monsieur," Chris said, rolling the window back up and drove through into French land.

"Well, that was easy," Chris said, throwing the girls a brief smile.

* * *

The cross over the pond was very smooth and relaxing, Markus was able to muster an hour of sleep before the heavy turbulence of the helicopter shook him awake. With his eyes bleary, Markus caught a glimpse of his crew; they were all wide-awake and waiting anxiously for their arrival in England. He raised his left wrist to his face and read the time on his watch. It was already three-thirty, Eastern Standard Time. They should be arriving at their destination in approximately thirty minutes. 

Ten minutes passed as Markus sat there, blank-faced, staring absent-mindedly at his crew. They were not just any motley crew; they were well-trained special operatives officers with a military background. It seemed that all of the S.T.A.R.S. members had a military background of some sort. He was glad to know that he had a team of experienced shoulders that he could count on.

Ten more minutes passed. They should almost be there now. Markus began thinking of his wife Madeline again, at home, sitting in a chair, waiting for him to return home to only swipe her off her feet and carry her into the bedroom where he would make love to her one more time before she blew up in size carrying his child. The child, he also began to think of the child. Would it be a boy, or a girl? He hoped and prayed that it would be a boy, and he would name him Aidan—_What a _nice_ name_. But he would not mind having a girl. He began to think of how his children would look like.

Would they have his hair colour, jet-black, or would they have their mother's, a deep red? What the eye colour? Grey like his or green like their mothers? Or maybe a mixture of the two? Hair type? Wavy? Straight? Curly? This was all amusing to think about, he thought. This creature that was slowly developing in the womb of his wife was to be _his_ child. It was going to be an extending link in the Hayman family. This was—

_BOOM!_

Whatever Markus was thinking about was abruptly interrupted by the loud explosion from the cockpit of the helicopter, the door to the cockpit rumbled, shaking violently as the helicopter itself began to spin and hurl itself toward land or sea—wherever it was heading, it wasn't good. Markus was being tossed around in his seat, still tightly buckled to it. The material of the straps began to burn into his skin as the helicopter shook furiously, rumbling and screaming in agony. Metal against metal pounded against each other on the other side of the hatch to the cockpit.

Soon, everything turned white, as the turbulence was too much for even Markus to handle. Their helicopter was spinning erratically, out of control, and toward some form of surface.

So early some sort of disturbance ended their operation.

* * *

A tall, dark figure that loomed in the darkness of a tower in Essex lowered its missile launcher and walked off into the night, glass crunching beneath its monstrous feet.

* * *

Chris, Jill and Rebecca had reached the Underground in Calais. They unpacked their bags and carried them casually through the doors of the subway station, going down the escalators and walked the winding paths until they reached their platform to London. With their metro cards in hand they slid it through the reader and were let through the turnstile with ease; but up ahead there was a sort of check-in station set up before passengers were allowed onto the train, and standing post at the stations were several armed military-style men and women—they were checking people for any suspicious items.

"Shit," Chris muttered beneath his breath as he held the black duffle of Uzi's and ammunition close to him. "What the fuck are we going to do now?" he asked the girls, a worried look washed over his face.

"Rebecca," Jill suddenly said, handing Rebecca her duffle. "I'll be back, you guys stay tight." And she went off into the crowd.

In about one minute she returned, nodded to Chris and Rebecca and said: "Let's go, get the bags. We're going to London."

Chris and Rebecca both looked at her confusingly.

"I've got this covered, trust me. Now, let's go get checked in, guys. We wouldn't want to hold up the line. Plus, I paid good money for these tickets so I'm not letting them go to waste. Now _come on_." She tugged at Rebecca's arm and pulled her forward toward the line that formed in front of the five check stands.

Both Chris and Rebecca looked at each other with befuddled looks on their faces. What was it that Jill did to ensure that they got on the train?

Jill rolled up her sleeve and checked the time. "The train takes off in exactly two minutes." She then lowered her voice dramatically, almost inaudible. "Just follow my lead, 'kay guys?" They both nodded their heads in unison. Jill then stood on her tiptoes and threw one arm up, giving a thumb up.

They were next in line.

The man in black asked for Jill to hand over all of her bags that she seemed to carry on her body, but Jill politely refused to. "Sir," she said in a charming, girlish voice. "Please, I've got a train to catch, and this train leaves promptly in less than two minutes now. Please, if you'll just let me get on the train. My aunt has recently passed away and I need to go see my family in London, you see. Please, won't you just let me onboard with a check? It'll take ages for you to rummage through _my_ belongings, sir."

There was a sudden _crash_ from behind Jill, Chris and Rebecca. Rebecca and Chris both turned back to see what the commotion about, but Jill promptly asked them not to, both listened and turned back toward the guard.

"Hey!" a man called from the back. "You fuckin' wanker, look o'er yonder fucker!" the man was calling toward the man who demanded to check Jill's bags, he turned away from Jill for an instant to take a look at the man cursing at him. The man threw a small, hard object at the man, hitting him hard on the head. It was then that the other officers took action against the man, fighting through the crowd, trying to reach the man before he could get away, but he was already past the turnstiles and up the stairs. And at that exact same moment Jill grabbed for an Uzi in one of her bags and hit the officer hard on the head with the butt of the gun.

"Let's go!" Jill cried out to Chris and Rebecca, shoving the gun back into its place and made toward the open door of the train. Rebecca was the last to jump on, and as she made it onto the landing of the train the door immediately shut behind her and sped off like a speed demon through the underground tunnel toward London. They had done it with not a second to spare.

"What the _fuck_ was that about?" Chris asked excitedly through a wide, cheesy grin, staring fondly at Jill.

Jill could not help but throw back an equally cheesy grin. "Ha, that was easier than expected."

"How did you get that guy to cuss at the officer?" Rebecca asked her.

"It was easy. I told the man I'd give him money when I got back into Calais, after I bailed him; that is _if_ he gets jailed. It was rather complicated, actually. But the man bought in. Ha, _men_."

Jill had created quite a disturbance at the Calais train station. But it did not matter to her, she and the others were on their way to demolish Umbrella.

Their train was heading speedily through the underground toward England. It would only be a short time more until they reached their destination: The Umbrella facility that was located on the coast of Essex.


End file.
